


Two Months

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends (Dark Horse Comics), Star Wars Legends: Republic (Comics), Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Cody Instead of Alpha, Except for that it's Legends Compliant, Gen, Hearing Voices, Horror, Missing Scene, More Detailed Warnings in Author Notes, Non-Lethal Suffocation, Obi-Wan in Ventress' Torture Castle, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 21:32:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15782511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Ventress holds Obi-Wan prisoner for two months. It's vicious. It's also his first introduction to her.Cody has been recently assigned to a Jedi General, and now it looks like they both might die.





	Two Months

**Author's Note:**

> This story is crafted in response to a request entrusted to my tumblr ask box. 
> 
> blastwaveinsideofme asked: "Hi! I've read almost all of your fanfics, and they are so, so awesome. I'm in love. May I propose you a prompt? Y'know, in EU during TCW (Republic #60, 62) Obi-Wan was captured by Ventress. She was torturing him, but of course authors of that comics can't go into details of such actions. So... can you please go over the details of this?"
> 
> Extra Warnings:
> 
> We're getting into Sith mask/magic territory. Obi-Wan will hear voices of malevolent long-dead Sith, chiding him for various desires he does not possess. (Murder of people he cares about, suicide, hatred of clones and other people)
> 
> This has turned into a multi-chapter story, and I haven't entirely mapped out as yet which tortures will be used. Here are the ones in this chapter:  
> \- Small cuts made by a knife  
> \- Trapped in a mask that covers the mouth  
> \- Ventress meets Obi-Wan for the first time and spits on him  
> \- Wrist dislocation from suspension restraints  
> \- Forced-standing restraints and their effects (including loss of muscle control- urine and shit, folks. Urine and shit.)  
> \- Psychological distress from not knowing if his injuries will result in permanent debilities  
> \- Ventress threatens to take Cody's eye (but does not)  
> \- Torture classics: Sleep deprivation, temperature extremes, dehydration, starvation, loud noises, bright lights, keeping their clothes wet to make cold even worse
> 
>  
> 
> One last thing: Obi-Wan escaped an explosion, prior to the beginning of this story, so he has some untreated burns from that. 
> 
> I don't know if I will reach the end of this story before or during/after the inevitable Obi-Wan Is No Longer Here Because Canon Says He Dies on the Death Star. So while this story takes place in a universe where Obi-Wan survives and recovers, I don't know if we'll see that in this story or not.
> 
> Let the horror show begin...

 

He was suffocating, his head trapped in a bag.

No... not a bag. A mask that covered Obi-Wan's entire head, clinging close, crushing his nose, the leather smelling of blood spilled long ago.

The Force echoed in his ears, whispers of vile things and the screams of others' agony.

_“Why do you want to kill your padawan?”_

_I don't._

_“You despise the clones as not quite human.”_

Except he  _didn't._

_“Why do you want to kill yourself? It's hardly the Jedi way, and you've only just awakened here.”_

Thoroughly alarmed by the voice he couldn't shake, the voice that was emphatically not  _his,_ the voice that wanted to worm its way into him and chew away at his link with sanity—

He could hear the incoherent gibbering of a creature who'd been kept in the mask too long, who'd succumbed to the voice.

Obi-Wan nearly writhed in his attempt to escape the mask, but he found his hands chained up and away.

“Hello?” he rasped. The mask fripped with his ability to sense, it warped things, told him one moment there was an army in the room, the next, no one at all.

Not  _living,_ anyway.

Breathing required effort, his nose's passage hampered, and when he opened his mouth to breathe, the leather flexed in, forcing him to breathe very slowly and with great focus.

_I didn't survive a walker's explosion just to die because I panicked and suffocated on leather._

He needed to find out who had him.

Something cut into his thigh and he cried out, startled, jerking away, his feet trying to carry him to a place his arms, chained high, wouldn't let him reach.

A low chuckle made his skin crawl and he shuddered, feeling blood creep down his legging.

It was then that he realized his tunics were gone, and that he could feel awful burns across his back and torso from the explosion.

There were few things in Obi-Wan's vast repertoire of experience that hurt quite as much as burns.

“Who is there?” he called, and oh, he hated how his muscles trembled with dread.

No, not just dread.

How long had he been hanging from his wrists? Fear shivered through him. If he'd been unconscious much over fifteen minutes, he would have had permanent damage in his hands.

The kind of damage that would make it so he could never hold a lightsaber again.

_But I didn't. It wasn't that long._ They felt dislocated, they  _hurt,_ but he didn't think they'd been—

_But I've never felt what that feels like before._ Again his heart skipped a beat, pattering and running shivers down his skin.

At least now he was awake. He would stand, keep the weight off his wrists—

He could last forty-eight hours that way, before his muscles began to come undone and release large proteins into his system that his kidneys would not be able to process.

She could kill him simply by forcing him to stand in this place for longer than two days. He'd soil himself, die of  _kidney failure,_ of all things—

“I am Asajj Ventress,” purred the voice. “Perhaps your padawan has spoken of me?”

Ventress? The woman Anakin thought he'd killed on Yavin?

“P-pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The tip of a knife pressed low against his back, over his kidney, not deep enough to cut, but deep enough to feel the indent, feel the keen sharpness of it, a sensation that might have been intoxicating if he hadn't been so damn alarmed by it. And the potential implication  _of_ it.

The sound of someone spitting and the splash of something wet against his burn made him flinch.

“Aren't you  _disgusting,_ ” Ventress scoffed. “ _Polite_ when you're about to die horribly.”

_Where is Anakin?_ “What exactly for, if I might ask?”

“For being a Jedi. For being Skywalker's master. But above all... because the sight of you makes me  _sick._ ”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “Terribly sorry about that. Perhaps if you give me back my tunics, there would be  _less_ sight of me to be sickened by.”

She kicked him in the back of his knee, the pain sharp, but not one of a broken joint. Still, his weight fell forward and down, yanking his weight against his wrists.

He choked, felt the bones in his wrist shift.

He scrabbled to get his feet under him again, succeeded—

He was trembling with agony, oh,  _Force,_ his  _hands—_

“S-so you hate my face,” he tossed out, voice shivering too much to be as nonchalant as the tone suggested. “I suppose that's why you covered it? I'm quite certain my padawan would be happy to take my disgusting self far away from your vicinity, should you be so inclined.”

A warm hand splayed against his back between his shoulders, and oh, the burned flesh there  _hurt._

Breath ghosted against his shoulder, and it made him shiver and want to wrench away, but he could go no further  _forward,_ and pushing back against her seemed terribly undesirable. 

“Your padawan is dead,” she whispered.

Obi-Wan reared back, dislodging her and lashing out with his good ankle, catching her somewhere with his foot. He heard a hiss, sensed cold rage from her, tried to sense  _anything else,_ tried to reach out beyond this room, to find—

The voice in his head laughed, chanting,  _“Gone, gone, gone!”_

“You lie,” Obi-Wan challenged, his heart thundering in his throat, injured knee throbbing. “You  _lie._ ”

“Oh, by all means, believe that. I shall enjoy hearing you call out to a dead man, begging him to save you when the torment gets to be too much.”

Obi-Wan's eyes burned, his throat closed up, he couldn't  _think._

_Don't be dead, please, Anakin, Padawan—_

Oh, even the  _possibility_ hurt like fingers in his chest, digging nails into his heart and twisting.

Her footsteps moved away behind him, and the sound of ripping made Obi-Wan brace himself.  _Tape? That sounded like medical tape._

More footsteps, and then the clang of a heavy metal door had him flinching. He tried to peer over his shoulder but couldn't.

“General?”  
“Hello?” Obi-Wan choked out, both horrified at the thought of someone else being trapped, and needing,  _needing_ to not be alone.

“Yes, Sir. I'm here, Sir.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, trying to shift his weight so his injured knee wouldn't be bearing quite so much of it. He couldn't relax the muscles in his arms, or they would be weighing against his wrists again. His arm muscles were already beginning to ache. He hadn't stretched, he hadn't warmed up, his back was in trouble from the explosion, and—

He would have to hold as long as he could.

“I cannot sense you,” Obi-Wan admitted, feeling horrible about it, horrible that he couldn't identify the human being behind him by  _name,_ only by the fact he was a trooper. “What is your name?”

“CC-2224. Cody, Sir. Your clone commander.”

“Are you alright, Cody?”

There was a moment of hesitation before reply, and it made Obi-Wan close his eyes and try to hold back a shudder of dread.

“She worked me over pretty good while you were out, Sir. Wants to know where the medical stations are. She gained nothing. I gained a lot of small knife cuts.”

Obi-Wan shook his head as the voice whispered,  _“He deserved it. He's just a replication, not a_ person. _” You're a hutthole, is what you are,_ Obi-Wan hissed in reply to whoever the ancient dark spirit might be.

Or maybe it wasn't actually a spirit, it was just Obi-Wan losing track of reality.

_That would be a bit soon._ He felt his lip curl in a grim almost-smile at the thought. It would be just his luck to lose sanity  _before_ anyone anticipated.

Cody. Cody, brave man, newly made acquaintance, just a matter of a week ago at the beginning of that  _wretched_ Jabiim assignment—  _hurt—_

“I'm sorry,” Obi-Wan murmured.

A sharp breath drew in. “No need, Sir. I will not break. You have my word. I am not defective.” He sounded just a bit scared, and Obi-Wan wasn't sure it was all of  _Ventress._

It broke his heart.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan whispered. “You'll be fine.”

Another long silence. Then...

“Can you contact your shiny, Sir? Let him know where to find you?”

Obi-Wan felt his throat close up. “I cannot reach him through the mask.”

“Cuts you off from the Force, Sir?”

“Yes, but little  _awful_ bits slide through. Bits that want to hollow out my brain.” And it  _hurt_ it  _hurt_ it  _hurt—_

“I wouldn't take her promise of Padawan Skywalker's death too seriously, General. I've not known him long, but I've already seen him survive kark I would never have believed possible.”

_But if he thought I was dead and panicked..._

Anakin  _could_ be caught off guard. It had happened on Geonosis. Twice.

“How long have we been here, Cody?” He kept hold of the name, needing its company, and wondering if Ventress actually needed or expected to get information from either of them.

“Not long, Sir.”

“Yes, but  _how_ long?”  _I want to try to determine if my hands will still be my hands when we get out. I—_

“I don't know, Sir. I'm sorry. She was cutting me.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “It's alright. It's alright, Cody.”  _I won't know until we're out, until a healer can look at my hands._

The not knowing churned in his gut, drew another shudder from his trembling muscles.

He'd had little sleep and even less chance to pause and rest his body over the last week of mud and horror that was the Jabiim battlefront.

_How long will my legs hold me?_

They had to. They just  _had_ to hold until Ventress came back, until she took him down.

Obi-Wan became aware of hunger when a stab of it pulled at his stomach muscles. He already felt the effects of dehydration.

Hours dragged past.

Obi-Wan knew, because he counted the minutes. The counting allowed him to drown some of the voice, offered him something else to think about other than the agony in his wrists and the way muscles in his legs felt like they might tear if they trembled too vigorously, and oh, the shaking was certainly increasing.

He could feel the blood pooling in his feet, and they  _hurt._

It only dragged on.

 

* * *

 

Cody ached. None of the cuts were very long or deep— most less than an inch in length and just barely splitting the surface of the skin. Ventress had worked on his thigh, then his bicep, and then, growing frustrated, his face, carving around his eye and threatening to gouge out that eye if he didn't cooperate.

He'd experienced plenty of terror so far in his life. The day the Kaminoans stood over Rex and discussed whether his hair color was enough to decommission him for. If Rex hadn't been in the top four best fighters in their age bracket, Cody was certain he would have died.

Then there was the first day on the battlefield. Not Geonosis, but shortly after.

Just about every day on Jabiim had brought terror, wondering if he was going to die. Hell.  _Jedi_ were dying right and left on Jabiim.

But nothing had been quite like the visceral knotting of terror in his gut with that knife that close to his eye.

Cody tried to keep track of the time, knowing his general's clock was ticking.

If he could keep conscious, keep on his feet, Kenobi might be able to save his hands.  _But_ if he was kept standing in place for too long...

_I have a dead General. Not even a month on the job._

It made Cody feel ill. Only a defective clone would get his General killed so fast.

“Cody?” The General's voice was strained. “How are you doing?”

Cody's throat burned from lack of water, and exhaustion was setting in. Still, he mustered his voice into something brave. “I'm alright, Sir!”

“You— you don't have to sound cheerful for me,” Kenobi replied. “Are you in a stress position?”

“No, Sir. I'm chained to the wall, I can't get to you, but I can stand up, move around a bit, lie down.”

Kenobi's head lifted a bit. “Good. Are you cold?”

“Yes, Sir. Very.”

“I think it's artificial.” It sounded from his general's voice like he might be wearing a wry smile.

_Cold temperatures, stress positions, sleep deprivation, dehydration._ Easy tortures, ones that required little effort or attention from the torturer.

Horrifically devastating against a human body.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan wasn't entirely sure he was conscious.

He'd certainly lost track of his numbers after the twelve-hour mark. It got tangled up in hour thirteen, and now he had no idea how much time had passed.

He hadn't had sleep even  _before_ the last disastrous battle for... oh Force, he couldn't even remember how many hours before. Strange spots hovered in Obi-Wan's vision, courtesy of the sleep deprivation.

He couldn't keep his eyes open, but didn't dare let them close.

There were different  _types_ of pains assailing him, though he couldn't quite determine which was the worst.

The low-level pounding of a headache had started up what felt like a lifetime ago, courtesy of the dehydration.

It hadn't let up in hours, just...  _present_ and never forgettable. It wasn't a tremendous  _amount_ of pain, and yet it turned Obi-Wan's stomach, threatening him with vomit.

Vomit that would have nowhere to go, with his mouth trapped by the mask. It could easily drown him.

Currently, the thought of throwing up was frightening.

Then there was the pain in his wrists, from the bones being dislocated and spread. That was a pain more loud, but accompanied with an unspeakable sensation of  _wrongness._ Something that tried to muster up panic that he simply couldn't afford to  _have_ right now.

He'd needed to relieve himself for some time now, knew in theory that there was little harm in just... letting the urine stain his pants, but he'd fought it this long, he would endure until control of those muscles escaped him entirely.

It wouldn't take all that long, most likely.

There was the cold, taking all of his pains and dialing them up just a bit, seeping into the toes, on up through his bones and causing a sharp pain that he felt, by all rights, he  _shouldn't_ feel due to the  _so much worse_ other pains.

For example: vying with the wrist agony was the muscular pain. It had started out shaky and burning, and had turned into something that horrified him with its intensity.

_Master, please grant me courage._

He didn't know how long he could keep on his feet.

 

* * *

 

They were nearing the limit.

Cody found himself agitated, alternating between pacing and sitting pensively. He had managed some sleep somewhere in there, he wasn't sure how long.

He did know one thing for certain. Kenobi  _had_ fallen asleep at one point.

That had sagged his knees, dropped his body lower, yanked his full weight against his hands.

The scream that shattered out of the startled-awake man left Cody shuddering.

_His feet will be swollen by now, with ulcers forming._

“C-Cody?” the general's voice wavered.

Cody clenched his fist. “Yes, Sir?”  
“How are you holding up?”

“I'm alright, General. Don't worry about me.”

“No. Tell me what you're feeling. Please.”

“I'm cold. The cuts burn. My shoulder and hip ache from the floor. I'm severely dehydrated. The hunger is...”

A low, raspy chuckle. “This Ventress... seems to be quite brutal. A person... to take... quite seriously...”

_You will begin to die soon. And I will follow, a day or so after, from dehydration._

_Just... dying._

The both of them.

Cody closed his eyes against the thought, wondering which of his brothers trapped on Jabiim still lived.

The door groaned open and Ventress strode back in. She moved to Cody first, unlocked his chain.

He lunged for her, and she sent him flying to skid on his back across the rough floor. It scraped open the cuts that had scabbed, and that  _hurt_ .

“If you want to help him, catch him,” Ventress shrugged. “If not, charge me again. I'm indifferent.” She flicked her fingers, and Kenobi's bindings gave way.

Cody barely had time to get up and under him, because the Jedi's knees dropped him the instant the threat to his hands was gone.

His weight knocked Cody back into the floor again, and for a long moment Cody couldn't quite move, his body worn from the lack of water.

Something thudded by Cody's side.

He wriggled out from under his general and sat up, finding a large flask of water and another flask of... some sort of gruel-like soup?

His gaze snapped to the door, but Ventress was on her way out.

Cody had just opened his mouth to speak when water sprayed down from the ceiling, drenching them both.

A wretched gasp escaped Kenobi, and Cody cringed.

“What is it, Sir?” Cody asked, already so  _cold—_

The water shut off.

“F-fire suppression s-system.” Kenobi shuddered against the floor. “T-to make us colder.”

“I hate her.” Cody lifted the water flask with shaking hands. “I've got to get you sitting up enough to drink.”

_We've got to be right near the forty-eight hour mark. There's no way he could move himself over to the wall._ His arms would be far too weak, and even with assistance, he wouldn't be able to walk.

At least the sprinklers had brushed away some of the urine smell, replacing it with a mouldy odor from the walls.

Cody wrapped his arm around Kenobi's chest, then dragged him backwards to the wall.

An anguished groan escaped Kenobi as his legs dragged helplessly across the floor, his arms crossed in his lap.

Even in the dim murk, Cody could see how swollen and  _wrong_ the man's wrists looked.

He managed to get the general up against the wall, then went back to retrieve the food and water. As he returned, he saw the general's eyes, wretched and hollow.

_He's in so much pain._

Cody touched the mask, trying to find a way to remove it.

That proved...

Beyond his ability to figure out. It had to open  _somehow,_ but he couldn't find any seams.

“It'll require the Force,” Kenobi rasped. “Force I cannot reach.”

Cody paused, stared into those blue, pained eyes.

“It's alright, Cody.”

It really  _wasn't._ Cody swallowed, fussed with the lower part of the mask. Discovered he could turn up a flap over the mouth.

_Oh thank—_

“Thank the Force,” Kenobi wheezed. “Oh.”

With shaking hands, Cody raised the water flask and dripped some into Kenobi's mouth.

His general had difficulty swallowing the first couple of times, then seemed to remember how. After several gulps, however, he closed his lips and shook his head. “You— too—”

“Yes, Sir.” Cody allowed himself one mouthful, holding it on his tongue as long as he could, trying to coax it down from its swollen misery.

All too soon it was over.

“More,” Kenobi whispered. Cody lifted the flask to pour into the Jedi's mouth again— “No.  _You._ Half and half.”

That certainly was  _not_ what was going to happen. “Sir, I am just a clone. You are what's important here.”

“N-nonsense.”

“Sir, it's regulation.”

Kenobi shook his head, but the gesture was so weak it was barely rolled against the wall. His hands lay limp in his lap, but from the tremors passing through the Jedi, Cody knew the pain hadn't lessened. He was simply keeping quiet about it. “Your life— is of value— to me— Cody.”

“Sir,” Cody gasped, shocked.

Kenobi didn't seem to realize he'd said something manifestly  _absurd,_ and his eyelids sagged shut. “P-please drink, Cody.”

Cody screwed the cap back on and raised the somewhat-seethrough flask of... sludge. He sniffed it cautiously, just to make sure Ventress hadn't taken a dump to torment them.

It didn't smell  _good,_ but it didn't smell like feces either, so...

_And we need the fluids in it._

Something....

Cody let out a curse as he thought he saw  _movement_ inside.

Kenobi stirred, dragged open his eyelids.

“Sir. There's something  _wrong._ ”

Kenobi nodded.

“Can you see it? Something is moving. Like... small worms, or something.”

“I— can't. Everything is swimming. I— Cody.”

Cody slammed the lid back on and shoved the trap away. If there were critters in the food, it's because they were  _put there._ And if they were  _put there_ by the bald woman, then they needed to  _not be_ in his general.

So he went back to feeding Kenobi little mouthfuls of water, and accepting one every once in a while himself, to still Kenobi's bizarre worry.

 

* * *

 

Sheer exhaustion from too long awake dragged Obi-Wan under.

He recognized gentle hands sliding him to lie on his side.

Every muscle in Obi-Wan  _hurt,_ and his wrists felt  _scary._ When they were not touching the floor, it felt like they might be being damaged more, and when they  _did_ rest flat on the floor, they  _still_ felt like they might be suffering continuing damage.

But he had nowhere to put them.

He certainly couldn't hold them up.

He lay there as Cody inspected his feet.

Obi-Wan's consciousness drained away in spite of the shivering of his skin, the freezing cold and the wet.

He'd just succumbed when lights blared on, bright and cruel, dragging yelping whimpers from both prisoners as eyes adjusted to gloom burned under the assault.

_Oh, gods, she's going to keep us sleep deprived._

_Please. Please don't do this._

_Anakin..._

_Find me._

 

 


End file.
